As he stepped closer, the dark shape sharpened. Meckule’s vision seemed to constrict around it, leaving only the shape in his sight. His pulse sounded loudly in his ears, making him acutely aware of his every heartbeat.
In a terrible instant, the scene snapped into focus—Tailon was pinned against the wall, three spears protruding from his chest and stomach. They formed a perfect triangle with the point facing upward, and each spear bore a shaft of a different color: scarlet, gold, and azure. A ceremonial killing. Tailon’s eyes stared lifelessly down at Meckule, fixed in a final expression of horror.
Numb with shock, Meckule stumbled forward. An all-too familiar piece of parchment dangled from the end of one of the spears. Choking and sobbing, Meckule ripped the parchment free and read.
Brilliant Essence flows from his blood,
So now you needn’t choose.
You have your sacrifice prepared.
Act now, or you will lose.
Blood Essence. His blackmailer had known Meckule would be reluctant to use it, so the stranger had provided the sacrifice for him. Now Meckule had everything he needed to complete his task.
If he did nothing, Tailon’s death would be a waste. If he acted now, his brother’s sacrifice might save thousands of lives, including his own. In any case, this murder proved one thing—his blackmailer had the upper hand. This shadowy figure could strike anyone, anywhere he wished, even someone in the custody of the law.
Meckule did not know how the dragon had fallen, but this is how he would fall: pierced through the heart by a dart from the shadows.
In a burst of motion, Meckule rushed to Tailon’s body and removed it from the wall. He carried Tailon to the center of the chamber, gently cradling him in his arms, laying him on the crystal directly above the dragon. Even in death he still seemed full of vitality.
Meckule didn’t care what the other clans thought, much less his own. Tailon’s death would not be in vain.
With the blood’s Essence draining away every second, Meckule knew he had to work quickly. He injected bursts of his own Essence into the blood pooling on the floor. Blood Essence mixed with his own and formed a dark mist that filled the chamber, swirling and undulating with an independent life. Meckule could hear voices whispering to him from the shadows, desperate pleas for help.
The dark Essence curled thicker and thicker in the air, not dissipating like normal Essence. Meckule’s rage boiled through him, threatening to spill out. The blood Essence had been created, and it waited only for him to exert his will upon it, for him to mold it to the task for which it had been made.
“Tailon,” he whispered, a tear tracking down his face. “Dear brother, I shall not forget you, nor allow your sacrifice to be in vain. When they look back, they will remember that it was you who saved us all.”
Meckule raised a clenched fist and thrust it forward, releasing the last of his Essence. The blood Essence activated, turning deep lavender for an instant before settling into emerald green. A great whirlpool of Essence rushed into the floor, obliterating Tailon’s corpse.
Meckule screamed, a bestial sound rising from his ravaged soul, exerting his will harder and harder upon the Essence, driving it ever downward. Part of the floor formed by the nearly impenetrable crystal shattered and dissolved like sugar in water.
The Essence spent itself as it destroyed the crystal, vanishing bit by bit, until only a small gobbet of Essence about the size of his fist remained. This he pressed farther and farther down, until it became the size of an eye, then a bead, then a grain. Finally, it was gone.
He stared downward at the aftermath of the abomination he’d been forced to commit. But though he had wrung every bit of power he could out of his brother’s corpse, the spell had only partially succeeded in breaking through the crystal. He had made remarkable progress, but it was not enough. The Drake remained locked in its many-faceted dungeon.
His soul wrung dry by the despair of his failure, Meckule collapsed to the ground and sensed no more.
* * *
Meckule stayed in his chambers alone all evening, soaking in a warm salt bath. Most of the time, he stared into the distance. A dagger and a note lay on his desk, but he could not bring himself to look.
A man burst into the room—Meckule started. Clenching his jaw against the pain, he sat up, but decided against standing completely.
Jacob, Meckule’s chief legal counsel, stood in the doorway. Before Meckule could say a word, Jacob slammed the door shut and dropped to his knees, bowing. “Rahim smite me for what I’ve done, sir, but it cannot wait. Punish me if you must, but you are in great danger.”
“You have milliseconds to convince me of that before I drown you. What do you mean barging in like this?”
“Again, I am so sorry, Your Grace. It’s only that someone has laid a snare for you, and the trap is closing. It’s the will, sir. Tailon’s will.”
“What about his will? Who has laid a trap for me?”
“In his will, Tailon said something unexpected,” Jacob said. “I and everyone else assumed he would simply leave the rest of the business to you.” The man paused and drew a deep breath. “He left it to his apprentice.”
Meckule sank lower in the water, trying to grasp the situation. He had no inkling as to why Tailon would do such a thing.
“Did he change his will recently?” Meckule asked. “Is there any indication that someone persuaded him to change it?”
Jacob shook his head, though he did not raise it from its bowed position. “As far as I can determine, it remains in its original form.”
“Keep your eyes averted,” Meckule commanded as he rose from the water. In an instant, his servants had him dried and dressed. He tromped over to the groveling man and raised his chin with his foot.
“Rise, Jacob. You were right to tell me, but if you ever mention this to another soul, I’ll have you fed to starving mage beasts. Is that clear?”
Jacob nodded and rose, keeping his mouth shut.
“Assemble the rest of your staff,” Meckule ordered. “I’ll be in my office.”
* * *
Knowing that he must be missing something, Meckule forced himself to look at the latest note. It was completely filled with writing, an addressed letter, written in the same hand as the blackmail notes:
Years ago, you dishonored my family. My sister, Evelet, became with child by your hand and died while giving birth to a son. The superstitious elders saw her death as a punishment from Rahim and declared our entire family line impure. Though I should have been next in line to inherit the family glory and riches, I am now forced into the basest of professions, barely able to sustain myself. I have raised Evelet’s child as my own, knowing that he, by birth, should lay claim to the vast wealth and prestige of both of our families, knowing that he will be kept from both.
This son will be strong, the beginning of a great dynasty. Rahim has shown it to me. I will do whatever I must.
Lady Vahashti Dorian
Panic strangled the air from his lungs, but he fought it, replacing it with a calm determination. As he searched through his memory, he could see the pieces come together. Dorians, a dark-skinned race, were masters of disguise, using the magical markings on their skin to hide their true appearances. He had seen those markings on Vahashti and had foolishly written them off. The Dorians adorned their bodies with so many markings, many of them simply decorative, that he had thought nothing of it.
Fen must have a similar enchantment transforming his body, concealing his true nature as a Dorian of a royal line. Together, Vahashti and Fen had conspired against Meckule, fulfilling Vahashti’s desire for vengeance.
Fen now had claim to half of Meckule’s company. With the dragon fossil nearly uncovered, the boy might manage to produce enough Essence to save the realm, indebting the other clans to him forever. Without it, he would have nothing. He needed the Essence quickly to fight back against what was surely coming, and he must have some alternate way of refining it for use, or he woul
d not have destroyed the main refinery.
In any case, there would be no time to collect it slowly from the World Fissure. This mother lode from the dragon would act as the seed of a new commercial empire—one, it seemed, that did not include him.
Meckule knew what he needed to do.
He took the dagger from where it lay on his desk, raking it across his palm. He let the blood pool on his desk, mixing it with Essence. This Essence would not be as potent as that which had been extracted from the blood of a recently-sacrificed victim, but it would be much more potent than any normal Essence. He let the Essence curl black and gray in the room, and when enough had formed, he used a simple spell to draw it back into his Reserve. His entire body tingled with the sudden influx of power.
Pausing only to take a magical carriage, he drove himself to the mine and burst through the gates. “Let me through!” he bellowed, raising his hand. “If you value your life, leave the mine!”
The guards stood aside, but none took his advice to flee. He made his way to the dragon, still clutching the dagger in one hand. He spoke in a loud voice, addressing the dead creature.
“Magic is not the savior of mankind, but its abominable curse. You are the epitome of evil. You were intended to give us a new start, but I think instead you shall be the end.”
A blast of searing hot magic launched through the entrance and exploded against the back wall. “Meckule, you are hereby ordered to stand down in the name of the Lord Scarlatti. Surrender, and we may spare your life.” The voice came from the head mage in charge of mine security.
Meckule shook his head, thinking that he did not have a life worth saving. “My life is of little value to me anymore… except for how I might spend it.”
“We can sense you are dealing with blood magic,” the head mage called. “Think about what you are doing. This could turn the Dorians against us. Do you want to be remembered as the one responsible for the downfall of the Scarlatti line?”
Unfortunately, this die had already been cast. He could not undo what was already done. “I am not one to slaughter for the sport of it,” Meckule replied. “I will not survive this day, but I wish the rest of you to. Leave now while you can and tell the other workers to do the same. No one must be allowed to possess the dragon’s power. I will make sure of that.”
Meckule stumbled forward, his hand outstretched. As he took a final hesitant step, a burst of intense magic rocketed at him, striking him squarely on the chest and knocking him backward. The pain spread over his body as he lay on his back, one hand touching the crystal at the edge of the pit he had created when he’d sacrificed Tailon. He knew the wounds were mortal, though he felt much less terror than he expected. Perhaps it would be as Evelet had told him: he would soon be under Rahim’s care. Perhaps she would be there also.
With one hand, he reached to where the blood pooled on his chest and released all of his Essence into it at once. He did not wait to act on it. He worked the same spell he had done with Tailon’s corpse, driving the magic down toward the dragon. The remaining crystal shattered, and the remains of the mighty beast ignited, bringing the whole world down around it.
This story comes from the world of The Hunger. If you liked it, get the whole book here:
www.futurehousepublishing.com/books/the-hunger/
Feed your Hunger.
In a distant, war-torn land, every man, woman, and child must consume the magical substance known as Sustenance or succumb to the Hunger. Those who succumb develop deformities and face exile—or death.
The scholar Azil wants nothing more than to lead a tranquil life and beat back the Hunger. But when a mysterious assassin tries to kill Azil, and a stranger shows up at his door challenging him to join her on a quest, he embarks on a dangerous journey to steal the sacred gems of Sustenance guarded in forbidden fortresses. To get there, Azil must venture through a land with a floating city, ravenous mage wraiths, ax-wielding warriors, and bloodthirsty bandits.
But with the sacred gems of Sustenance come volatile magic—magic so strange and dangerous that ancient prophecies foretell it could usher in a golden age, or turn its wielder into the darkest of villains.
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About the Author
Michael is a graduate of Brigham Young University and Western Governor’s University with degrees in German Teaching, Music, and Instructional Design. Though he grew up traveling the world with his military father, he now lives in Utah with his wife, Jen, and his two sons. Michael enjoys acting in community theater, playing and writing music and spending time with his family. He played for several years with the handbell choir Bells on Temple Square and is now a member of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
He is the author of the novels in The Canticle Kingdom Series, The Last Archangel Series, and the Chess Quest Series. He also authors several web serials through BigWorldNetwork.com. He publishes anthologies for charity in his Advent Anthologies series. He has also had work featured in various online and print magazines such as Bards and Sages Quarterly, Mindflights, Meridian, The New Era, Allegory, and Ensign. He has also won honorable mention three times in the Writers of the Future contest.
Learn more about Michael at http://www.futurehousepublishing.com/authors/michael-d-young/.
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